A Piece of Paper
by SteamedBun
Summary: How did Nodoka survive all those years of separation with her son? Why'd she let him even go in the first place? Another view on an character that seems glossed over a lot of times.


A Piece of Paper

Disclaimer: Ranma 1/2 belonged to Rumiko Takahashi, but as for whose hands the license and assorted rights have ended up in, I have no idea... I just know it's not me. And the story is non profit too.

By Steamed Bun

I saw little Daisuke and his family eating dinner today.

They looked up and paused when I passed by, but I offered no greeting, walking hurriedly past.

It was awkward, but it would have been even more difficult had I let slip the bitter jealousy I felt at seeing them.

Many years ago, I met Genma for the first time. He was quite young back then, but even then, he aspired to become a martial artist. I remember following him around pretty much everywhere, watching as he did his best to learn what little of the art he could without his parent's knowledge. He tried to teach me a bit, but I had little aptitude and none of his desire to learn. But it was inspiring to watch him, to see him try so hard to reach his dreams.

When he reached an age where he could survive on his own, he left that little town where we lived. I was disconsolate for a while, but I knew that he was following the call of his dreams.

Imagine my surprise when he came back not as a master full of pride and confidence in his strength, but a broken man who had lost his dreams, who had decided to no longer pursue the call of greater skill. Knowing of his own weakness and dishonor, he had stopped training, pursuing the art he had loved so much.

I decided back then, that I would do my best to change him into the man he could have been, had he stayed with me instead of leaving to Happosai. It was difficult working against those embedded habits, but he truly had the desire to change.

We married several years after he came back, and I was never happier. Sure, he still acted without thinking most of the times, and was remarkably insensitive just about all of the time, but I could often visibly see him restrain himself in the middle of a motion or a sentence, and I knew he was doing his best.

Two years later, I had a child. Ranma. Genma was jumping up and down, excited beyond belief at the possibility that he might be able to at least teach the art he gave up years ago. I was happy as well, but at the same time slightly worried, although I wasn't quite able to place that worry until later.

When he was five, Ranma asked Genma whether he could learn the art. Genma agreed, and Ranma took to it as a fish took to water. I remember watching the two, Genma dodging, Ranma doing his best to hit him. He always grew angry after a while, but I attributed that to childish temper.

Four months after they started training, I finally was able to place that little worry that was plaguing me. Genma apparently had it as well, and that night we stayed up talking long after Ranma had gone to bed.

There is an old saying about experience, and the basic idea of it is that wisdom cannot be taught, not even from parent to child. Genma saw in Ranma himself as a child, filled with that voracious desire to improve his art. Would he then make the same mistake as Genma?

Maybe not the exact same mistake, but those who seek strength have to step carefully to get what they desire. The price of power foolishly grasped was never more evident to me than when Genma had returned to me from that first fateful training journey.

We decided then, that the best solution would be to send Ranma on a training trip with him.

It was the hardest decision of my life.

The next morning, while we were packing up their stuff, Genma sensed my dark mood. Attempting to cheer me up, he and Ranma forged a contract, one that promised that Ranma would become a man among men. I accepted it, and saw them off. Ranma was crying a bit, but I steeled myself against those tears, knowing that they would be for his own good.

That was three years ago.

There is no real concrete evidence in my house that I ever had a husband or a child, none that is, but that one contract he left here. And so I hold it close to me, every time when my memories are not enough to console me.

It hurts, but I believe my decision was the right one.

But was it really?

I have my doubts late at night, when there is little to distract me. I do not think I could bear it if turns out that Ranma will follow the same path as Genma. I trust in my husband, but those little niggling doubts still come, telling me that they'll both come back, not masters of themselves and the art, but less than that, less than the men I know they could have been.

I could not bear it should those doubts ever come to pass. It would mean my sacrifice over the years has been for nothing, that these painful years away from my family were wasted in a failed effort to make Ranma into a better man.

And so I clutch the contract close to me for reassurance as I go to sleep.

* * *

AN: As weebee suggested, I decided to do a parallel story for Nodoka. It was a lot harder to explain some things than it was for Genma. As it is, I still gloss over a lot of her facets that I don't think I'd be able to fit into a rational explanation. Anyways, review and tell me of errors you saw, things you'd change if you were me, and basically anything you want. While you're at it, read and review my other ones too! 


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